


Honeysuckle

by The_Audacity



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29594412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Audacity/pseuds/The_Audacity
Summary: Ishida Uryuu just wants to get through his sophomore year of medical school without incident. Then why does he suddenly have to deal with about a dozen Shinigami sexually assaulting him!?
Relationships: Ishida Uryuu & Kurosaki Ichigo
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

“My mocha latte is cold,” Kurosaki grumbles over the lip of its waxy paper rim. “How long have we been here?”

“Two hours and…” Uryuu checks his phone for the precise time, “Thirty-seven minutes.”

“Fuck.”

He rubs an ink-stained hand over his face and then ruffles it through his unruly hair. The feeling is mutual, Uryuu thinks as he taps his glasses up to rub at the bridge of his nose in attempts to dissolve some of the raging headache there. They have been studying nonstop at the local coffee shop since they ordered drinks nearly three hours ago. The dregs of his Chai have long since gone tepid, his cranberry muffin crumbs crusty, but they are somehow only halfway through the review material for their imminent round of exams. If he had known this semester would be so time-intensive, Uryuu would’ve held off on his infectious diseases elective.

“Maybe we should take a break and come back?”

“Nah, if I stop I’m not gonna be able to force myself back to this bullshit,” Kurosaki vetoes. He shuffles some papers around and bites the cap off an orange highlighter. At this point, Uryuu is pretty sure he’s just marking words and phrases at random out of desperation. “Did you bring the textbook for Physio II?”

Handing over the requested book, Uryuu sighs and resigns himself to yet more of this torture. The thing about med school is you do what you have to do when you have to do it and then you party it out when you can. Uryuu learned this within a fortnight of his freshman year and it actually works. Therefore, next weekend he is going to get _so drunk_. He allows himself a moment to daydream about this promised catharsis.

Immersed as he is in the anticipation almost makes him miss the arrival of a familiar face.

“I thought I smelled beautiful in the vicinity.”

“Yumichika?” Kurosaki grunts. He is ogling the flamboyant Shinigami as if he might be suffering a hallucination. This is in part because they haven’t seen the man in over a year. More importantly, he is currently rocking the full shihakushou, complete with his decorative modifications but _sans_ gigai. “Ishida, you see him, too, right?”

“Yes, Kurosaki, but no one else does,” he mutters with a clear warning glance around them. A few patrons heard Kurosaki’s outburst and are looking around for the source. “Let’s go outside.”

Nodding, they pack up quickly and Kurosaki follows him with Ayasegawa trailing jauntily after them. Behind the café in its conveniently uninhabited alley, they turn to face the man with a gravity of apprehension bourn of similar serious encounters. There are few reasons beyond impending catastrophe that would bring a member of the Gotei 13 to them in the human world. When he merely grins and bats artificially-extended eyelashes at Uryuu, however, they become a little confused.

“What’s this about, Yumichika?”

“Do you need assistance in battle, Ayasegawa-san?”

“Oh, no,” he dismisses with a flick of his thin-boned wrist. “Nothing like that.”

“Then what?” Kurosaki fishes when the man remains silent for several beats. “If it’s not a fight, why did you cross over into our dimension without a gigai?”

“I just felt like popping in for a visit to my favorite Quincy,” he simpers, turning to face Uryuu fully. Ayasegawa takes a step closer and stares into his eyes. “Though I do wish you would get contacts, dear boy. Those glasses are horrendously reflective and _do not_ do your amazing baby-blues any justice.”

Baffled by this comment, Uryuu is at a loss for words. He isn’t sure if this is supposed to be a strange Shinigami hazing ritual or something, but he’s beginning to get irritated. They don’t have time for social calls from bored narcissists with nothing better to do than bother people. He and Kurosaki still have enough trouble as it is helping them keep the Hollow infestation down. Uryuu is working up to say just that when the man plucks his glasses from his face and drops them disdainfully on the ground.

“Hey—!”

His complaint is interrupted when Ayasegawa runs gentle fingers down both sides of his face, bringing his to within a few inches of Uryuu’s. He hears Kurosaki’s stunned gasp echo his own as the man closes the distance and presses their mouths together firmly. At this point, Uryuu’s poor mind’s schema has been so inalterably frazzled that he is unable to react for several seconds. During which time Ayasegawa introduces his hands to Uryuu’s ass and squeezes amorously. That shakes his bout of cognitive dissonance right off and has him shoving the man’s chest sharply.

“Force can be beautiful, too, Ishida-kun,” Ayasegawa says, low and sultry. “But we can save that for when we’re alone.”

“What the fu—”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Ayasegawa-san,” Uryuu says, cutting Kurosaki off before things spiral out of control. He would like to give the Shinigami the benefit of the doubt, since he has been primarily respectful with him in the past. “Is this a joke?”

“Call me ‘Yumichika’. I’d love to hear my name in your vibrant, thrilling tenor.”

“Did Ikkaku put you up to this?” Kurosaki demands. “That guy has the weirdest sense of humor.”

“The only person who ‘put me up to this’ is myself,” Ayasegawa briefly turns to irritably spit. Then he approaches Uryuu again and dons a beatific smile. “I caught one whiff of blooming Quincy and had to have a taste.”

This time, Uryuu dodges the kiss before it lands. But the Shinigami uses shunpo and traps him against the dusty red brick behind him. It’s the first time he has ever had a body shoved against his in anything other than battle. Uryuu huffs a surprised cry at this, eyes widening when Ayasegawa’s tongue traces his ear.

“A-Ayasegawa-san!”

“Yu-mi-chi-ka,” the man reminds him, enunciating in a hot whisper.

“Ishida?” comes Kurosaki’s anxious question. Uryuu makes eye-contact around Ayasegawa’s affected plumage and gives a frantic nod for help. “Get off him!”

Kurosaki pulls the man back by the scruff of his uniform. Taking a moment to recover from the shock of this not-quite-assault, Uryuu sucks the exhale back in as the Shinigami draws his sword.

“If you want to play hard-to-get, Ishida Uryuu,” he smiles as he releases shikai. “I can _make_ you let me touch you.”

“What the _fuck_!?” Kurosaki finally gets to blurt. “Did Kenpachi beat what little brains you had out of you? Ishida doesn’t want to mess around right now.”

This is getting all too serious now. Kurosaki is reaching for his badge in preparation of an actual skirmish. He doesn’t understand why anyone would take a joke so far, but he can sense kidou emanating from Ayasegawa where he stands. And Uryuu knows about his zanpakuto’s reiatsu-absorbing abilities from a weird night drinking with Hisagi not too long ago. While he is confident of his innate ability to draw energy from others even when his own spiritual stores are depleted, Uryuu would really rather avoid that eventuality altogether. He takes a second to retrieve his glasses and pocket them for safekeeping.

“I appreciate the offer, Yumichika-san,” he assures in a pleasant tone, Subtly, he gestures for Kurosaki to stand down; he does. “But I can’t accept your feelings.”

“Hmph. Rejection of love is such an ugly concept.”

“Even so, I must respectfully decline.”

With that, he grabs Kurosaki’s arm and gets the hell out of there. He takes three long jumps with hirenkyaku and stops to command him to suppress his spiritual signature before they flee a little further, just in case. They land on the outskirts of town. Uryuu pants softly, leaning against a tree.

“You all right?”

“Fine. Not used to hirenkyaku with…two people.”

“I meant about Yumichika,” Kurosaki clarifies, watching Uryuu carefully. “Don’t know what the hell that was about.”

“Odd,” he succinctly agrees.

Truthfully, he is deeply unsettled for several reasons beyond the spontaneity of Ayasegawa’s solicitation. Why Uryuu, for one? They’ve known each other for years and the man has never show interest in him other than a stray comment regarding aesthetics. Although he suspected, Uryuu didn’t even know the Shinigami was gay. He is certain, though, that Uryuu has never told a soul that he _is_. Unlike Hisagi, Kira, and Matsumoto, he doesn’t develop loose lips when tipsy.

“Maybe we should contact Soul Society and—”

“No, I’m sure it’s just one of his whims. He’s probably already back in his own dimension.” Uryuu doesn’t want to add any more embarrassment to this than he has already suffered. The notion of formally inquiring about why Ayasegawa would suddenly decide to attempt molestation churns his stomach with mortification. It’s bad enough Kurosaki was with him. “Let’s just call it a day and meet up early tomorrow to study.”

“If you say so.” Uryuu nods and Kurosaki shrugs. “Drop me back by my place?”

  
  


  
  


Uryuu makes it back to his apartment without incident. He can’t sense Ayasegawa’s reiatsu, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Preparing dinner, he remains extra vigilant of the energy fluctuations around him. Uryuu manages to eat about half of his noodles before he is interrupted by a new intruder. Luckily, this one actually knocks instead of just showing up in his kitchen. When he answers the door, he is somewhat surprised to see Abarai grinning down at him from the other side.

“Abarai,” he greets with a small frown, not bothering to hide his perplexity. “Is something wrong?”

“Nah. Everything’s cool. Can I come in?”

“Um.”

The man pushes his way in, gigai clad in jeans, band t-shirt, and leather jacket. He kicks off his shoes and commences scoping Uryuu’s living space out. Uryuu closes the door and opens his mouth to begin questioning but Abarai preempts him.

“Heard Yumichika stopped by earlier.”

“You heard right.”

“Bastard beat me to it,” he grumbles. “As usual.”

“Sorry?”

“Ishida, I know this is going to sound weird but…” here Abarai steps closer and Uryuu tenses, poised to dash away if necessary. “I really like you! Will you go out with me?”

“Um,” he repeats.

Looking into Abarai’s pleading puppy-dog eyes, Uryuu is more than a little floored by this. Much like with Kurosaki, he and Abarai have typically bickered and disagreed on just about every topic outside of a war situation. No, actually they’ve argued in battle as well. Unlike with Kurosaki, Uryuu has never developed a deeper bond from daily interaction and mutual understanding with Abarai. He has seen more of this Shinigami than of Ayasegawa, but not nearly enough to warrant love confessions!

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. About your hair and your hands and the way your pants are always a little tight in the best places. I’ve been thinking about the shape of your eyes and how they look when you’re surprised—just like that. Thinking about your mouth—”

“Abarai, what is this?” he cries, utterly lost. “First Ayasegawa and now you…Is there some kind of contest going for who can freak me out the most?”

“No, of course not! Are you freaked-out? I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“Then why so suddenly? Why me?”

“Because…look at you,” Abarai vaguely gestures to him by way of explanation. “You’re gorgeous, Ishida. And you smell _amazing_.”

On that note, Uryuu temporarily tunes out because he is receiving his second Shinigami-kiss of the day. If he’s honest with himself, this one is nicer. If only because it’s Abarai, who is more his type and more likable than the infamously vain and judgmental Ayasegawa Yumichika. Despite the arguments. Plus, he’s a healthy young inexperienced male and two attractive men coming onto him has Uryuu in a somewhat salacious mindset whether he likes it or not.

So he doesn’t shove this time. Uryuu starts to kiss back, slightly. Just a smidgen of return pressure is all it takes to encourage Abarai. The man’s oversized hands curve around Uryuu’s back and fold him against Abarai’s broad chest. His eyes fall shut on the rather pleasant feeling of warm strength against him. Now he understands what those girls are always giggling and gossiping about—the relaxing effects of a man’s embrace and all that. Uryuu used to think it was a female thing but damned if he isn’t dead wrong.

Uryuu parts his mouth to steal an extra sip of air and Abarai takes the motion as invitation. He deepens the kiss and slips his tongue out to experimentally pet the inside of Uryuu’s upper lip. Allowing the intrusion, Uryuu vocalizes an intrigued hum and mimics the action. His aim is intercepted by Abarai’s tongue, and if he thought it was a fun sensation on his lip, it’s kind of stupefying against his tongue. The lingual dexterity of such a sloppily speaking person as Abarai surprises him, but he’s not complaining. For all he knows, this is the product of _decades_ of making out.

That reminds him: why is Abarai Renji making out with him right now?

He breaks away to ask but Abarai continues kissing down his neck until he reaches its base and sucks a quick bruise there. Uryuu utters a wisp of a moan at that, which seems to encourage the Shinigami. Breathing a throaty groan, Abarai reaches under Uryuu’s shirt and drags firm palms up his back. Only to lightly drag blunt nails on the way down. He turns his attention to Uryuu’s shoulder, pulling the fabric out of the way to lave a wet swirl over the muscle there.

“Wait, Abarai,” Uryuu tries, grasping the man’s jacket for leverage.

By now, he can tell they’re both enjoying this way too much. The evidence of Abarai’s intent is hot against his hip and Uryuu is not far behind. But this entire day has been so strange and he doesn’t want to rush into anything so novel without thought. Despite the unexpectedly eager response of his own body.

“Ishida,” he mumbles without purpose. Possibly just reminding himself who he’s here with.

“What are we doing?”

Then Abarai deftly pops open the row of fasteners lining his shirt and reaches up to rub over a nipple, other hand taking firm grip of his hip to keep him still, as he dives back in for an aggressive kiss. Uryuu squirms, caught between a basic inclination towards pleasure-fulfillment and a wiser warning to sound the alarm.

Ayasegawa’s lust-blown violet eyes pop into his head. They had been hazy yet sharply focused on Uryuu in a way no one has ever looked at him before. Like he knew Uryuu was the only one who could deliver precisely what he needed. Then he snaps back to reality because Abarai’s are identical. He pushes the man back and takes another look to confirm. The scientist in him is assessing, cataloguing, postulating on these developments. Past the muddling fog of sexual influence Uryuu can see flaws in the logic of Abarai’s appeal. This just doesn’t make sense. Besides, attraction and socialization are entirely separate beasts and he doesn’t want to _date_ Abarai. Of that he is certain.

“Am I going too fast?”

“No—yes, but that’s not the problem,” Uryuu attempts to explain in spite of Abarai’s anxious expression. “Why are you here, Abarai?”

“Because I need you, Uryuu!”

His eyes flare wide at the sound of his given name said so suddenly and in such a tone. Without waiting for a reply, Abarai reaches for him. It’s beginning to be unsettling how single-minded he is being. This situation is going to devolve quickly if he and Ayasegawa are suffering the same delusions. At least Abarai’s zanpakuto is safely stored with his soul inside the gigai. Still, Uryuu needs to extricate himself from this delicately to avoid trouble.

“Okay. Okay,” he comforts, relaxing somewhat when Abarai tries a meek smile. “I just have to go and get something and I’ll be right back.”

“What are you getting?”

“It’s a surprise.” Abarai frowns at that, so Uryuu imitates a flirtatious smile he’s seen others give and adds, “You’ll like it.”

“Really? In that case, I’ll wait right here.”

“Good. I’ll be back in a flash.”

Uryuu grabs his coat and backs away, still smiling encouragingly. He slips his feet into his shoes and doesn’t bother grabbing his keys as he opens the door. As soon as it is closed behind him, he dampens his reiatsu and zips straight out of there.

  
  


  
  


He takes a disorganized route around town to throw any pursuers off his trail before eventually coming to his final stop: Urahara Shouten. Uryuu figures if anyone in this plane can help make sense of these anomalies, it’s that mad scientist. Taking a moment to appraise the property—Urahara is the only spirit in residence at the moment—Uryuu steps up to the back entrance and firmly knocks four times. It is late but not so much so that he should be disturbing anyone’s rest. Still, it takes several moments before the door creaks open to reveal the shop-owner. As usual, his eyes are shaded by hat and fenced by fan, but Uryuu is too relieved to see the man to care about his love of aesthetic enigma.

“Uryuu-kun, what can I do for you?”

“I’m so glad to see you, Urahara-san,” he begins with a relieved sigh. “I hope I’m not imposing, but—”

“Nonsense! Come in, come in,” Urahara croons, gesturing with a wide swing of his arm. “Care for some tea?”

“Tea would be great.”

“Have a seat and I’ll bring a fresh pot.”

Like a lost child returning to the security of a trusted adult, Uryuu melts onto the cushion at Urahara’s wide table. He orders his thoughts while he waits for the man to join him. Urahara pours him a steaming mug of green tea and eases onto the floor pillow beside him. Patiently watching Uryuu sip the calming brew, he puts his fan away to offer a benign smile. A wave of gratitude encompasses him at the realization that he has acquired such a powerful ally willing to assist even in trivial matters such as these.

“Do you know of any reason why Shinigami would be invading Karakura to harass mortals?” he begins as concisely as possible without sharing embarrassing details. “Specifically two members of the Gotei 13?”

“Why, no…” Urahara looks away to ponder. “I haven’t heard anything about that sort of thing. Why do you ask?”

“Well, its, um. Kind of a long story.”

“I have time.”

Nodding slowly, Uryuu thinks about how much he’s willing to divulge here. How important is it to discuss something so personal with this man in order to avoid future issues with two Shinigami? On the off-chance that it keeps happening, however, Uryuu decides it is necessary.

“I was visited today at two different locations by two different Shinigami: Ayasegawa Yumichika and Abarai Renji.” Urahara hums in comprehension and eyes him attentively. Uryuu takes a breath and states, “Their intentions were inarguably amorous in nature.”

“Ah.”

“Though neither of them has ever shown any sign of interest before today.”

“I see.”

“I have also never made overtures of any kind, of course.”

“Is that so?”

“But the strangest thing about these occurrences,” Uryuu furrows his brow as he recalls it, “Is that they both seemed to be overtaken by some incontestable emotion or influence. Ayasegawa-san even drew and released his zanpakuto.”

“Really?” Now Urahara’s eyebrows rise in contemplation. “How bizarre.”

“Indeed. So I was hoping you might have some knowledge or advice…” Uryuu gestures with his hands, palms upturned, “That might help elucidate or resolve these issues.”

“I’m afraid you are not going to like my answer.” Shaking his head sadly, Urahara sighs and gives a wry frown. “I’m surprised your father chose not to mention it.”

“Ryuuken? Why would he know anything about this?”

“Because what you are beginning to experience is a cycle inherited through your Quincy lineage known as the Honeysuckle Event.” Uryuu stares open-mouthed as Urahara continues in a matter-of-fact tone. “This is the point in a young Quincy’s life whereupon he or she emits a low-level, high-grade pheromone of sorts designed to attract the strongest possible mate as your life’s match.”

Setting aside the uncanny similarity of his words with some version of ‘the Talk’, Uryuu cannot accept that he would have failed to learn this about himself—about his _people_ —at a previous point in time. Not only that, but the idea that his ‘strongest possible mate’ is apparently a man of Shinigami lineage!

“No,” he whispers, beginning to shake his head. “No, you must be mistaken.”

“I did say you wouldn’t like it.”

“But this—this can’t be possible. A Quincy paired with a _male Shinigami_? The fact that Shinigami are _souls_ has no significance?”

“Oh, do you prefer females? I’m sure Rangiku-san would be happy to—”

“No, I—that’s not the point!” Taking a steadying breath and a mental step back, Uryuu asks, “Why honeysuckle?”

“Because the chemicals you produce are commonly interpreted as the nectar of wild honeysuckle.”

“Wait, both Abarai and Ayasegawa mentioned the way that I smelled nice…” Feeling foolish for not noticing that earlier, Uryuu removes his glasses and sets them on the table to soothe his returning headache. Annoyingly right between his eyes “This has to be some kind of joke. I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

“It was a rare condition among your people. Said to only occur in about five percent of the population, and only among those with immensely dominant genes. It was a way for the best-of-the-best to find one another at mating age and give them the chance to produce the strongest possible offspring.”

“Then why would it influence males to take interest in me?” he snaps, irritated and offended at his own idiotic body. “I can’t produce offspring without a womb. Or without a living human being, for that matter.”

“An interesting question. Perhaps your innate preferences as well as those who you affect come into play. There could be other reasons the trait was so rare. I posit that there is one person in particular that you are biologically drawn to—that your body is attempting to draw _to you_.”

“Don’t you dare say ‘soul mate’!”

“It’s not just biological, by the way. The very fabric of your reiatsu is infused with it, a golden beacon crossing both physical distance and spiritual dimensions.”

Uryuu gulps down the rest of his tea and stares at the sopping leaves at the bottom of his cup. He thinks about the way he reacted to each man and how they behaved with him. During both propositions, Uryuu felt sure he did not want to follow through with anything beyond casual contact. His judgment remained unimpaired, unlike theirs. Does that mean he gets to pick but they have little choice in the matter? Would the effect wear off after a while? How long is this going to persist? And what happens if he never finds that ‘ideal mate’?

Taking a breath to voice some of these questions, Uryuu is silenced by the look Urahara turns on him, contemplative and curious. It occurs to him now that Urahara also falls into the category of susceptible individuals. A shiver runs through Uryuu as he waits. He doesn’t know why the effect would be delayed with this man in particular. Perhaps Urahara is able to resist it to some degree.

Anticipation begins to build and he is privy to the sight of Urahara slowly falling under a sort of sway, almost like becoming intoxicated. His eyes fall to half-mast and gain that cloudy aura, body language shifting perceptibly. Urahara lets a lazy smile curl across his face and a light flush creeps up his neck. It becomes the same look of absolute desire demonstrated by his previous suitors. He is sure he will never get used to that look directed towards him. By now Uryuu’s breathing is elevated. His blood is dancing an excited beat beneath his sensitized skin and when Urahara reaches for him, he doesn’t oppose.

He allows himself to be pushed to the tatami-topped floor and leisurely kissed. Where Ayasegawa was selfish and opportunistic, Urahara is considerate and careful. He keeps his weight off Uryuu while hovering above him and brushing his hair aside to smooth a hand over his neck. Where Abarai was rough and insistent, Urahara is gentle and inquisitive. He trails tickling fingertips over Uryuu’s side and pauses at each new point of contact for approval. In other words, Urahara is _seducing_ him where the other two Shinigami simply sought to _take_ him.

This is probably why he doesn’t draw his bow when Urahara’s hand settles over the zip of his slacks. Heat radiates from his face and the way Urahara’s tongue nudges against his is inspiring. The slow build of pressure and friction through thin fabric is a revelation. Uryuu moans appreciatively when the man pops open the clasp and slides down the zip to take better hold of him over his white boxer-briefs. His knees open to each side on their own, allowing Urahara to settle comfortably between them. Hips replace the pleasure of his hand, which immediately seeks to roam in its newfound freedom. Up his belly, over his side, around the swell of his ass, and down the back of a thigh to caress at the back of his knee. And all the while he kisses Uryuu into a state of licentious simplicity.

Uryuu’s body subconsciously matches the rhythmic roll of Urahara’s, meeting his slow thrusts. Dimly, he registers the quiet chorus of their increasing groans, as if from outside himself. He pulls at the fabric of Urahara’s kimono until the man obligingly shucks it off. Next, his fingers concurrently push into wavy blond hair, knocking the hat aside, and under the hem of the man’s pants in a blatant request. Urahara leans back to smirk at his audacity and nip playfully at the edge of his jaw line. Soon, Uryuu feels the fizzy bubble of tension rapidly expanding in his lower abdomen. He is naïve, yes, but even he knows what that signifies.

“Urahara,” he moans in warning.

The man gives him a wide grin before dipping down to reinitiate a heated kiss. His pace quickens and Uryuu’s eyes slip shut in expectation, hands closing over Urahara’s working biceps. Uryuu’s orgasm hits him in three startling waves, causing him to break the kiss and make an interesting series of sounds. He feels Urahara’s answering low groan reverberate against the hot shell of his ear. Something like liberation settles over Uryuu as his heart incrementally slows.

A few moments later, Urahara shifts back and sits up to retrieve his kimono. He leaves his hat where it lies. Uryuu retrieves his glasses but otherwise remains mussed. They gaze at each other in silence a while. Then Urahara clears his throat.

“That should help subdue the effects for a few days.”

“What?”

“I told you earlier, didn’t I? You’re producing _pheromones_ ,” he explains while readjusting his clothes and straightening his hair. “The secretion of which is diminished when you fulfill the purpose of their design.”

“So, consummation eliminates the need for this secretion and creates a window of cessation?”

“Precisely, Uryuu-kun,” Urahara beams. It’s not the first time someone has been appreciative of his intelligence. It is, however, a first to see it accompanied by the gleam of fresh satiation. “Though that is not the sole reason of my indulgence, I assure you.”

He understands what Urahara is saying, both explicitly and subtly. And of course his modest confession would be more mature as well as hold more sway than Abarai’s or Ayasegawa’s. Still, the simple truth is that Uryuu has no more of a relationship interest for Urahara than he did for them. Moreover, he can’t shake the idea that this phenomenon is causing these men to act against their true will. Yesterday none of them had given any thought to wooing Uryuu, much less becoming his ‘life partner’.

“I’m flattered, Urahara-san,” Uryuu carefully enunciates, praying this won’t end up like his other encounters. Not even Uryuu is delusional about being able to take a man like Urahara in a one-on-one fight. Besides, he doesn’t think he could handle a match with someone he just effectively had sex with. “But I—”

“It’s all right. I can be an adult about it,” he smiles good-naturedly.

“Thank you for everything,” Uryuu gushes, relieved once again due to this man’s benevolence. “You’ve saved me a great deal of trouble, I’m sure.”

“Glad to be of assistance. If you would like to use the restroom before you go, feel free.”

Uryuu nods, considering the state of his underwear at the moment. Then, “Actually, is there any way I could stay here tonight? I left Abarai at my apartment and—”

“That would be unwise.”

“Oh.”

“My restraint is limited, given your continued—though reduced—radiation of enticing essence. If you stayed the entire night, I am not confident I would not end up in your bed.”

“In that case, I’ll get out of your way as soon as I can,” Uryuu promises with a nervous tremble in his voice because…the way Urahara watches him is conspicuously predatory.


	2. Chapter 2

Over waffles the next morning, Kurosaki is the one imprudent enough to bring the subject back up.

“So this thing…”

“Hm?”

“Is it like…mostly a sex-thing or does it make people _like_ -like you, too?”

“I-I can’t say for sure,” Uryuu stutters because it’s too early for this level of awkward. Imagine talking with Kurosaki about his sex life! “Ayasegawa seemed solely interested in physical gratification but Abarai claimed he ‘really likes’ me. He even asked me out.”

“No shit,” Kurosaki huffs in surprise. “What about Urahara? I can’t picture that guy confessing to anyone.”

“His confession was more of an after-thought,” Uryuu divulges, recalling the event in distracting detail. “Though I suppose a confession after is better than one right before you…um.”

“You didn’t just kiss Urahara, did you?”

With that question, Kurosaki stares at his half-eaten food instead of Uryuu.

“Not really.”

“Wow,” Kurosaki mutters to himself. “That explains…”

“What?”

“Uh, nothing. Forget I said anything.” Uryuu glares, presuming more criticism. Kurosaki continues to avoid looking at him. Thanks to his curiosity, though, he just won’t shut up. “How do you turn it off?”

“I don’t know that, either.”

“Urahara knew about the condition but not its cure?”

“He said something about finding a specific person and…fulfilling certain conditions.”

“Conditions? You mean fucking one of the guys you attract?”

Uryuu gives a full-body twitch at that and the tension in his spine ratchets up another notch. He truly cannot comprehend how this could possibly become any more embarrassing.

“If you _must_ put it that way.”

“But fucking Urahara didn’t work,” he asks in the tone of a statement, easily surpassing previous embarrassment. “Wonder why.”

“First, Kurosaki, I did not ‘fuck’ Urahara-san. It was more like…frottage,” Uryuu feels compelled to differentiate. “Second—”

“Why do you even know that word?”

“Why do _you_?” he snarks right back, feeling his blood pressure begin to rise. “Second, it did work but only as a temporary remedy.”

“Then it didn’t work. What, he didn’t do it for you, Ishida?”

“He did it fine, Kurosaki.”

“Oh, so you’re cured?”

“You know I’m not—why are you being so obstinate about this?”

“I’m just saying, maybe Urahara’s tired old ass isn’t up to par,” he quips. Uryuu stares at him until he returns the look. “What? Am I wrong?”

“At least he _tried_.”

“What are you saying?”

Now they face off, a host of strange, inappropriate thoughts flitting between them. Uryuu doesn’t understand Kurosaki’s attitude. If anything, he should be grateful to Urahara for helping. As Uryuu’s friend, he should be happy for him. Instead of acting like a dick about it. If Uryuu didn’t know better, he’d say it seems like jealousy. Now he’s waiting for Uryuu to admit he’s siding with Urahara partly because, unlike Kurosaki, he was kind enough to try helping him out by fooling around with him.

“Never mind. Let’s just study for exams, Kurosaki.”

“Wait, what do you plan on doing about all this? You can’t keep running around like this without causing chaos.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Uryuu growls. Recovering, he explains, “I’m going to focus on acing my tests today and then worry about a strategy for conquering this unexpected obstacle later.”

“But—”

“Let’s just study!”

“Ugh, fine!”

  
  


  
  


His first in a series of difficult examinations goes exceedingly well. Uryuu is confident of his performance and congratulates himself with a trip to the café between classes for lunch. A bento of pre-packaged sushi is calling his name and he doesn’t bother talking himself out of the expense today. Sipping tea and enjoying his sushi, Uryuu allows a tiny grain of ease to take root. Things aren’t horrible if he can still maintain good academic standing and make time for a nice lunch, after all.

With half an hour left to kill, Uryuu steals away to one of the empty classrooms in the building for a little last-minute studying. He tracks Kurosaki’s reiatsu a floor below him out of habit. The heft of his trusty messenger bag is an inexplicable comfort as he takes out a notebook to peruse. A quiet creak alerts him to a presence entering the room. Just like that, Uryuu’s drifting balloon of optimism is savagely pierced.

“Hey, Ishida,” Hisagi Shuuhei calls from in front of the dry-erase board. “Long time no see.”

“Hisagi-san,” Uryuu returns as he slowly stands. He glances towards the door and Hisagi smirks.

“Now, you weren’t just thinking of running off, were you?” he asks in his deep, smooth bass. The man pushes calloused hands into his jeans pockets up to his spiked bracelet-encircled wrists. Hisagi gives Uryuu a once-over before taking a measured pair of steps towards him. “I’m kind of excited to see you after all this time.”

“It has been too long. But I have an exam to get to now, so—”

“Right. College-boy, huh? _Fancy_.”

Uryuu forces a weak smile to answer Hisagi’s leer while frantically plotting escape. The way his artfully-lacerated sleeveless black jacket fits his chest is distracting. That and the fact that even his gigai sports the tattoos and choker he is known for. Oh, and the one that hugs his shapely biceps. Uryuu eyes that ominous number on the man’s cheek and swallows hard.

“Yes, well. One must always seek to improve, right?”

He knows Hisagi is the type to continually train and reach new heights of physical and mental capabilities. Even going so far as to take up guitar-playing and column-writing when he’s not teaching recruits, training on his own, or leading his men. Not to mention the man’s impressive scope of personal maturity and his vastly moral character. Those are a few of the many things Uryuu admires about this person.

Somewhere in the back of his head, Uryuu has been dreading this meeting for the simple reason that he’s kind of always had a crush on Hisagi Shuuhei. In spite of stern commands to do otherwise, his brain blithely skips through an imaginative succession of naughty scenarios featuring the punk-styled Shinigami and himself. It doesn’t take long before Uryuu’s heart is pattering succulent anticipation through his veins. He’s not sure he has the strength to turn this opportunity down.

“See, that’s what I like about you, Ishida,” he claims, inching closer while holding steadfast eye-contact. Uryuu couldn’t look away if his life depended on it. “Everything you do is so _honest_. Even the way you lie to yourself is a form of personal truth.”

Uryuu’s mouth parts on the makings of a puzzled question but then Hisagi is right in front of him, peering down and seeing _everything_. Though he’s still fully-clothed—for now—Uryuu feels naked under that gaze. Hisagi lifts his glasses away and sets them on the desk Uryuu didn’t realize he was leaning against. The curl of his smile deepens into something purely Cheshire.

“I-I really do need to get to that c-class,” Uryuu stutters badly. He is trembling faintly and Hisagi has yet to actually touch him. This is not going to end well. “So if you’ll excuse—”

“You’re not going anywhere, kid.”

A toothy shark’s grin precedes a graceful dip of the knee and then Uryuu is staring as his pants are deftly breached. Hisagi doesn’t waste a precious second. Uryuu stifles a shocked gasp because the man’s mouth is an inferno around his rapidly-filling erection. Suddenly he doesn’t have the I.Q. to form sentences, much less cohesive ideas that could describe how this feels.

“Hi—Hisagi-san,” he tries, panting around the disjointed syllables. “ _Ahhhn_ , this. This is… _shit_! Nnnh, so wrong. We shouldn’t—”

“Gods, you are cute when you ramble,” he pulls back just long enough to snicker.

Then he sucks Uryuu _all_ the way down, forcing a startled shout. Gripping the desk for dear life, Uryuu struggles to retain some semblance of purpose here. There’s a very good reason he needs to fight this and—what was that, again? Hisagi is extremely good at what he is doing and Uryuu thinks he might die if the Shinigami takes his mouth off him. A skilled tongue swirls up the underside, applying pressure at the dip just below the head, and Uryuu’s mouth falls open on a helpless moan.

His head tips back, exposing his neck and arching his spine. Uryuu’s toes alternately curl and release inside his shoes of their own volition.

Blinking blearily, Uryuu risks a glance down and his breath slithers out of him in a disbelieving exhale: Hisagi is watching him with those sharp grey eyes. It’s yet another representation of that insatiable lust Uryuu keeps inciting in these men. He thinks he’s beginning to develop a weakness for it.

Speaking of weakness, Uryuu’s knees are shaking. He leans further against the desk and accidentally thrusts forward between Hisagi’s cinched lips.

“Sorry,” he whispers because that’s all he can manage. Hisagi hums in amusement and Uryuu goes vaguely cross-eyed for a moment. Already close, that happy accident is the tipping point and he bites his lip after he declares, “Hisagi, I’m close.”

But the man doesn’t retreat. On the contrary, he seems to leer around him and applies stronger suction, pace increasing until Uryuu’s eyes clench themselves closed against an insane rush of pleasure. It burns through him like swift lightning, bright and so potent it’s almost painful. He is still gulping in precious air and shivering delicately from the aftershocks when he belatedly senses Kurosaki’s approach.

Hisagi stands and Uryuu hurriedly adjusts his slacks, with enormous effort. The instant Kurosaki pushes open the door, Hisagi dips down to press an ironically simple kiss to the corner of his open mouth.

“God _dammit_ , Ishida,” Kurosaki reproachfully bellows, striding over to shove Hisagi away from him. The man wordlessly takes the attack with a raised eyebrow and a stoic frown, allowing himself to be moved. “I told you this would happen.”

“Kurosaki, wait—”

“Hisagi, don’t you have any degree of self-control, huh?”

“Kurosaki,” Uryuu repeats, tossing Hisagi an apologetic glance. The man answers it with a flirty half-smile.

“I thought Urahara said you were supposed to be safe for a while,” he barks, turning his attention on Uryuu.

“Something must have changed.”

“Or maybe he’s full of shit. You need to try harder to stay away from these guys!”

“How? Unlike you, Kurosaki, they know how to mask their reiatsu! By the time I detect them it’s too late. They’re simply better at finding me than I am at avoiding them.”

He takes the jab with ill-grace and rounds on Hisagi once more.

“What makes you think you can break into our dimension whenever you want and accost people?” his would-be savior continues. Hisagi shrugs casually and Kurosaki’s scowl darkens. “Did you even _ask_ Ishida if you could kiss him?”

“No, but seeing as he was okay with me sucking him off, I assumed—”

“Hisagi-san!”

Kurosaki stops dead, jaw dropping as he glances between the two of them. When Uryuu doesn’t deny it, he loses steam and backs off Hisagi. The look he turns on Uryuu then is almost wounded and the sight of it makes him ashamed. He almost feels like he somehow dishonored Kurosaki by allowing Hisagi’s actions. Then he realizes how ridiculous that is and eclipses it with irritation.

“Do whatever you want, Ishida,” Kurosaki mutters as he turns to stomp from the room.

“Where were we,” purrs Hisagi.

“Going to class to take my exam,” Uryuu firmly states, holding up a hand for the man to keep his distance. Fortunately, he obeys. Uryuu wonders if that ‘cessation’ Urahara mentioned has just had its lease renewed. He gathers up his bag, notebooks, and glasses and heads for the door. As an afterthought, he says, “Thank you for that, Hisagi-san. It was quite…pleasant.”

“Anytime, baby.”

He catches up to Kurosaki a few minutes before their next class begins, gripping his shoulder to stop him when calling his name doesn’t work. Like last night, that same massive flux of indeterminable energy oscillates through him until he breaks contact. Kurosaki tosses him an accusatory glare and purposely walks away from him. Shaken, Uryuu surrenders and finds his seat as their professor walks in.

  
  


  
  


Returning to his apartment unnoticed is a feat. He hasn’t fought this hard to keep his spirit concealed since sneaking around during the war with Aizen. It doesn’t help that he’s also attempting to seal an entirely new category of emission at the same time. If Kurosaki wasn’t so keen on acting like a twit, Uryuu wouldn’t be doing this in the first place. As it stands, he needs to go home so he can change his clothes, water his plants, and maybe eat a meal. He should probably toss that bowl of noodles he never got to finish, too.

Locking the door firmly behind him, Uryuu sighs as he kicks off his shoes and sets his bag on the coffee table. He runs a hand through his hair and plucks off his glasses to poke at his old friend, the recurring headache. The contact lenses he never wears are starting to sound like a good idea. None of his admirers seem to like his glasses anyway, since almost all of them have initiated by removing the sharp-edged things.

That thought leads to a series of more complicated ones. Uryuu perches wearily on his couch and stares off into space for several minutes. As if the stress of advanced med school exams and spending extra time with Kurosaki weren’t harsh enough, he has also endured a collection of first sexual experiences at the hands—and mouths—of a group of men he couldn’t fathom being with in a very limited amount of time. This wasn’t how he imagined losing his virginity.

Actually, he has carefully avoided imagining it at all. In large part because Uryuu hasn’t wanted to admit to himself who he wants to lose it _with_ , but he’s giving up now. There’s no point in deluding himself further. Regardless of the various willing, gorgeous men ready to give whatever he asks and then some, Uryuu only truly wants one man.

And he’s not on the menu.

Permission abruptly releases the mental floodgates of fantasies featuring Kurosaki. Passionate and forthright Kurosaki. Loyal, kind, clever Kurosaki. Obscenely sexy and completely unaware of it. Equally attractive when frowning thoughtfully or smirking mischievously. Uryuu feels a previously unnamed, unacknowledged frisson of enticing heat spark and smolder within him. His regard for Kurosaki is a thing long-shunned and viciously vengeful. Set free, it wreaks havoc inside Uryuu and spikes his blood faster than any second-rate erotic episode with a paltry substitute. Amazed by his reaction, he takes his own pulse and is stunned by the result.

It reaches a new level of tachycardia, however, when he hears a tap at his window and sees a figure lurking on the other side of it. He shoots to his feet. Waits. When the intruder doesn’t burst through the glass from the delay, Uryuu cautiously circles around his coffee table and peers out to identify…

“Kurosaki?” he dubiously declares. “Is that you?”

“Who else do you know with bright orange hair?” Kurosaki challenges when Uryuu raises the pane. He’s in Shinigami-form now, probably on one of the patrols he still likes to indulge sometimes. “Besides Inoue.”

“I’d say she’s more of a ginger-toned auburn…”

“Anyway,” dismisses the testy man with an eye-roll. “It’s not like I’m masking my reiatsu.”

“I’m using all of my focus keeping mine in check to bother about yours.”

“You have to stay vigilant, Ishida,” Kurosaki reprimands, stepping into his living room properly, keeping careful hold on Zangetsu, and closing the window behind him. “Renji has been circling the place for the past ten minutes.”

“What!?”

“Don’t worry, I ran him off.”

“That’s not the problem.”

“I thought that was exactly the problem. Is there another one now?”

“No, I mean I thought that since Hisagi and I…” Uryuu trails off as Kurosaki curls a lip faintly in disgust. “It should’ve dampened my ‘influence’ for a while.”

“It didn’t,” Kurosaki immediately states.

“Maybe it just wears off faster than Urahara anticipated?” Resolving to call the shop-owner as soon as possible, Uryuu remembers Kurosaki is supposed to be upset with him. Instead, he’s checking in and even continuing to actively guard him. He knows better than to mention it and start another fight, though. “Thanks for stopping by, but I’m fine. You can get back to your patrol now, Kurosaki.”

“I’m not on patrol.”

“Then why—”

“It’ll be easier to protect you if I don’t have to ditch my body in a pinch,” he explains at Uryuu’s gesture towards his spiritual state. “Yuzu’s apartment-sitting with my body until we get back.”

“‘We’—wait, Kurosaki, I have no intention of remaining your ward.” He raises a pair of fingers to adjust his glasses and smoothly turns the gesture into a rubbing at his headache when he recalls removing them. “I appreciate the assistance up to this point, but I will be fine for the night on my own.”

“Fuck that.”

“Kurosa—”

“Either you come stay at my place or I’m staying at yours,” Kurosaki firmly tells him with the tone of absolute assurance, “But I am not leaving you alone another minute until you figure something else out than ‘using all your focus’ because it’s not working.”

Narrowing his eyes, Uryuu takes an extra second to double-check that he heard right. Belatedly, Kurosaki notices it, too. He glances away and shifts where he stands. Readjusts his sword strap and quietly clears his throat.

“You can sense it, too,” Uryuu carefully enunciates. “This entire time you’ve been getting a quadruple-dose of whatever I’m releasing that’s driving these battle-seasoned Shinigami utterly _insane_ and you’re…you’re completely unaffected. How is that possib—”

“We need to go.”

“Don’t change the subject, Kurosaki.”

“No, Ishida, we need to _go_ ,” he urges, alarmed. He grabs Uryuu’s arm and drags him to his bedroom. “It’s fucking _Kenpachi_ , so pack your shit and let’s get the hell out of here. Now!”

Pale with fright, Uryuu nods obediently when he releases his focus to confirm the threat. Never mind that Zaraki shouldn’t be able to sense _anyone’s_ energy, much less a mostly unfamiliar Quincy. He snatches a spare bag from the closet to stuff random clothes into. Luckily, his toiletry bag—also containing his contact lenses—is packed and at hand, his school bag is still ready to go on his table, and he can easily live without everything else for a while. His poor plants will have to suffer.

Kurosaki wordlessly grabs one of his bags and yanks open the front door for him. Leaving his glasses on the table, Uryuu tries his hardest not to imagine what could happen if he were to fall into that insane captain’s clutches. Nobody deserves that fate!

They use shunpo and hirenkyaku to reach Kurosaki’s apartment in a matter of seconds. As soon as they walk through the front door and Kurosaki closes it behind them, he relaxes. At Uryuu’s confused frown, he says, “Working for Urahara had its perks: I had this place shielded when I moved in. One-way reiatsu filter.”

“So no one can detect me while I’m here?” Kurosaki shakes his head. Dubious because he has never experienced Kurosaki’s energy flicking on and off as if by a switch whenever he goes home, Uryuu mentions this and asks, “You’re sure?”

“Yep. Urahara added a barrier that masks the disappearance/reappearance flux. Step outside and see if you can sense me. I’ll even increase the output.”

Kurosaki’s choppy, burning spirit flares out of him and Uryuu stands on the front porch, amazed as it vanishes as soon as the door shuts. He reenters, locks the door behind him, and _relaxes_ for the first time since yesterday morning. Uryuu didn’t realize how much that pent-up energy and the continual effort to contain it were weighing on him until he was free of the obligation. He shoots Kurosaki a grateful smile. Then he loses it in uncertainty. Wincing in something resembling pain, Kurosaki is leaning over the back of his sofa with fists clenched into the black fabric.

“Kurosaki, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he grits, taking measured breaths. “I’m fine.”

After a moment, Kurosaki recovers and he does look fine. He paces down the hall towards his bedroom. Uryuu is too stunned to voice any of the concerns, questions, or comments tumbling around in his head. Instead, he walks into the kitchen to brew tea.

“Hello, Uryuu-kun,” Yuzu greets from beside the stove. He gives a light start and then mirrors her smile. “Ichi-nii said you’d be coming over so I made dinner for you two!”

“That’s so kind, Yuzu-chan. Tonkatsu?”

“With rice and steamed snow-peas!”

“Sounds delicious. Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she chirps, grinning that sweet smile she’s retained throughout adolescence and into early adulthood. “Ichi-nii told me you haven’t been feeling well lately. Let me know if there’s anything I can do, okay?”

“I—thank you, I will,” Uryuu accepts. He never pegged Kurosaki for the type to tell his family about his friends’ troubles. But he has always been close with his sisters. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to make a phone call.”

“Of course.”

Migrating to the living room, Uryuu takes out his cell and hits speed dial number seven. He shoots a nervous glance towards Kurosaki’s room. It’s still closed. Urahara picks up after the third ring.

“ _Hello~, Urahara Shouten, how may I help you~?_ ”

“Ah, good evening, Urahara-san,” he quietly begins, suddenly awkward with memories of recent intimacy rushing to the forefront. “If you’re not too busy, I would greatly appreciate a quick moment of your time—”

“ _Relax, Uryuu-kun_ ,” he soothes. Uryuu can practically see the man waving his fan dismissively at his formality. “ _What’s on your mind?_ ”

“Well, that is to say—I’ll just jump right into it here—I’m not sure that your previous counsel was as applicable as we at first assumed.”

“ _Consummation theory was a no-go, huh?_ ”

“Precisely.”

“ _I figured that might be the case_.”

“Then why did you—”

“ _You’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Ichigo lately, haven’t you?_ ”

“Um,” Uryuu balks at that. “I might have…enlisted his services in attenuating my plight.”

“ _You couldn’t have picked a better cock-blocker_ ,” Urahara cheerfully proclaims. “ _But this boon may also be a hidden bane_.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, ignoring the former comment. “You’re saying he has something to do with the fact that I’m still gushing full-power despite, uh…”

“ _Getting your rocks off with a couple of dashing devils_?” Urahara adeptly finishes for him. “ _I’m afraid so. You see, about Ichigo—_ ”

Kurosaki chooses that moment to stroll into the living room, back in corporeal form and freshly showered. He plops onto the couch beside Uryuu in a puff of subtle soap-fragrance and warmth. His wet hair shakes a few drops to slide down his neck and absorb into the green tank-top he wears over a pair of dark grey yoga-pants. And since Uryuu is now picturing Kurosaki doing hot-yoga in those pants and with that dampness, he completely misses whatever Urahara had to say about him.

“I’ll have to call you back,” Uryuu mutters into the phone, pointedly not staring at the muscles on display in Kurosaki’s bare shoulders.

“ _Ask him why he is the only one unaffected by you_.”

“I already did.”

“ _And he changed the subject, right? Then ask him why he’s helping you_.”

“How is that relevant?”

“ _Think about it, Uryuu._ ”

Urahara ends the call on that note. Flipping on the TV, Kurosaki glances sidelong at him. Suspicious of his conversation, no doubt. Uryuu rallies his intelligence and considers Urahara’s advice. He doesn’t really see how Kurosaki could be complicating his condition just by existing. Yet, if there’s one person he knows who is almost never wrong, it’s Urahara.

“Hey, Kurosaki.”

“Mn.”

“Why are you helping me?”

That gets him a glance and a small frown. “Because even though you’re a jerk more often than not, you’re still my friend.”

“So you would do this for any of your friends.”

“Well…yeah, I guess.”

“And it doesn’t bother you that you’re effectively protecting my ‘honor’?”

“Yeah, it’s weird, but…I mean you didn’t choose this, right?” He finally turns to meet Uryuu’s steady gaze. “It’s not like you took a pill or signed up for an experiment. It just _happened_ to you.”

Uryuu considers that for a moment. He wonders if Kurosaki sees him as one of his helpless souls, one of hundreds in the mountain he must keep safe under his umbrella of strength. Or is it more than that?

“I’ve been thinking,” he abruptly switches tactics. “Unlike normal humans, you can sense my abnormal energies. Yet, unlike other Shinigami, you are somehow impervious to them. Why is that, exactly?”

“Dinner’s ready,” announces Yuzu, popping a head out of the kitchen to beam at them.

Uryuu mentally groans. Of course something else would prevent this all-important answer at the critical moment. Kurosaki is visibly relieved as he jumps up and joins her in the other room. Scowling, Uryuu stays put and plots his next move.

“What do you mean you can’t stay?” Kurosaki’s nervous voice amplifies. “And your cat—”

“My boyfriend is waiting for me,” she apologizes with her tone. “But I want you two to enjoy the meal. Ichi-neko is a good boy; he won’t give you trouble. Promise!”

“ _Ichi-neko_?” Uryuu laughs aloud.

“But watching Ishida is already like cat-sitting,” Kurosaki whines, making Uryuu bristle and glare.

“Fair is fair, Ichi-nii. I watched _you_ for you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but…”

“I’ll be back to pick him up in a couple of days.”

With that, she waves to Uryuu and leaves them alone with their awkwardness. Uryuu takes pity on the man and decides to call a truce until they finish dinner. Ichi-neko joins them just as they’re relocating to the living room to start a round of studying for tomorrow’s test. It’s a shaggy, lanky thing with brown eyes and vividly orange fur a few shades from Kurosaki’s own. Uryuu bursts into chuckles at the sight of it.

“Shut up,” the cat’s namesake complains, tingeing red around the cheeks. “Hand me that calculator, would you?”

“I mean, look at him!” Uryuu cries, picking the animal up to gently place in his lap. The cat begins to purr on contact, looking up at him curiously. He pets it after a quiet moment of greeting. “Are you sure you’re not related?”

“It’s just a damn cat.”

“He’s adorable!” Uryuu lowers his nose to let the cat touch with his own, scratching gently at the sides of his angular jaw. He grins when he gets a friendly meow for his efforts. Then Ichi-neko plops down and rolls over to expose his belly for petting. Giddy with delight, Uryuu obliges the animal with gentle strokes over his cream-colored down. “I might have to steal your sister’s pet, Kurosaki.”

“That is so _unfair_ , Ishida.”

The strained cadence of his words has Uryuu looking up to catch his reaction but Kurosaki is facing away from him, rising ostensibly to refill his drink. Uryuu notices his fingers grip tighter than necessary to the half-full glass. When he returns, his expression is blank. He reaches across Uryuu to grab the calculator and turns to his work with an unprecedented ardor.


	3. Chapter 3

Two days pass and Uryuu is no closer to finding an answer to this predicament than he was when this fiasco began. He is, however, completely finished with his exams. As promised, he fully intends to get roaring drunk to celebrate. Kurosaki has other ideas on that subject, as he avidly states walking back from campus with him.

“It’s just—you know, it’s irresponsible, Ishida.”

“‘Irresponsible’, Kurosaki?” he scoffs, narrowing his eyes incredulously. “Coming from you, that’s a bit hypocritical.”

“Fuck you. I’m not irresponsible.”

“I can manage a couple of hours in public without inciting a mass orgy,” Uryuu snaps, irritated.

He doesn’t like the fact that Kurosaki is basically filling his father’s role right now. Actually, he has been a guardian more or less for the past three days. Wherever Uryuu has gone, Kurosaki has followed. It has come in handy a few times, especially when Kira Izuru popped out of the bushes with a bouquet of lilies and a scroll of appallingly saccharine poetry. Or when Hirako Shinji appeared behind him, clamped a hand over his mouth, and tried to drag him away when Kurosaki wasn’t looking. And then there was this morning when Muguruma Kensei socked Kurosaki in the chin and then shoved Uryuu against a wall to kiss him with more teeth than anything. That didn’t go over well.

Uryuu is grateful for the aid but he has to draw a line when Kurosaki starts bossing him around like this. And he’s been looking forward to this _all week_. Denying himself a treat now just seems too cruel.

Pulling a face at the word ‘orgy’, he argues, “No, I don’t believe you can. Or I wouldn’t be exhausted right now from fending off horny warriors.”

“Bottom line: I’m getting drunk.”

“Can’t you at least drink at my apartment?”

“Boring.”

“You can play with Yuzu’s cat.”

“Ichi-neko is probably sick of me by now,” Uryuu mourns, thinking of the hours he’s spent falling in love with the sweetheart of an animal. “So no.”

“Gah, fine! We’ll go to a bar,” Kurosaki concedes, throwing up his hands in frustration. “But only for a little while.”

“Who said anything about going with you?”

He gives Kurosaki the slip, using hirenkyaku to get him just down the block from his favorite bar so he can walk in without startling anyone with a sudden appearance. He knows it will take Kurosaki a while to find him; even years later, he’s no good at tracking reiatsu. Seeing Kurosaki cursing him in his mind’s eye, Uryuu smirks and orders a very strong drink to gulp on the spot. Then he orders another and starts downing it, too. At the bartender’s concerned look, he mentions that he’s a med student. The next round is on the house.

The more he drinks, the better he feels about life in general. By the time he gets cut off, Uryuu feels pretty damn awesome about the world. He talks with a group of students celebrating a birthday party. Then he commentates on an intense pool game between pros. Moving upstairs, he takes a seat in a quiet corner beside a young woman reading texts on her phone. She seems amused by him at first, but then she goes to meet someone downstairs, leaving Uryuu by himself in a large, dimly-lit room. With some difficulty, he stands. And sits right back down.

He may have over-done it a tiny bit.

“Could this be any more perfect?” croons a new arrival.

“Not if we’d planned it,” answers another.

Uryuu whips his head up to discover Madarame Ikkaku and Ayasegawa Yumichika approaching him. They wear twin wolfish grins as accessories to their creatively-outfitted gigai. They flank him, sitting to either side and holding him down when he tries to rise a second time.

“Oh, wait,” Ayasegawa says, “We did plan this.”

“Because getting you out from under Ichigo was harder than getting Yumichika to stop wearing that fruity kimono.”

“I loved that kimono, Ikkaku!”

“I was not ‘ _under_ Ichi’—Kurosaki,” he is compelled to proclaim. Wasting precious time enacting an escape. “‘Scuse me.”

“Ah, but we just got here,” Madarame growls, slipping a hand over Uryuu’s shoulders to anchor him. “And here Yumichika was looking forward to finishing what you two started a few days ago.”

“I don’t really—”

Madarame cuts him off by leaning in to nibble and suck at his ear. His other hand pushes over Uryuu’s hip and spreads out over his thigh. Ayasegawa’s lips find his neck on the opposite side and a finger hooks into the top of his shirt. Applying pressure to the zip, he drags it down halfway and pushes in to smooth over his chest.

“It’s okay, Ishida, we’ll take care of you.”

“We’ve been doing this for so long, Uryuu,” Ayasegawa adds in a honeyed whisper, “That we’ve perfected every aspect of sex. Ikkaku and I will show you things you’ve never _dreamed_ of.”

That sounds…amazing, actually. He’s not surprised to hear the pair of them are a couple. Uryuu struggles to breathe for a few beats as the two men touch and kiss and lick at him in an ascending frenzy. Ayasegawa tilts Uryuu’s mouth towards him and pushes his tongue inside. At the same time, Madarame laps along the ridge of his ear and presses the heel of his palm over Uryuu’s crotch. He moans, startled and breathless.

Seconds tick by and Uryuu is floundering in anxious ecstasy between them. The next time he opens his eyes, he realizes they have his shirt all the way open and falling down his arms. Pants popped open and the mound of his erection is rebelling against his underwear. Ayasegawa trades his mouth for his chest, sucking and teasing at each of his nipples in turn. The wispy edges of his geometrically-trimmed hair tickle along Uryuu’s chest as he sinks to his knees between Uryuu’s. Ayasegawa rubs hands up and down his thighs as he trails kisses down his belly.

“W-wait,” he meekly protests, seeing where this is going.

Then it’s Madarame’s turn to kiss him silent. He grips Uryuu’s face firmly and keeps him from breaking away. Somehow Uryuu feels dissociated from this, like he isn’t really here. He’s watching this on a screen instead of living it for himself. The sounds he makes as Ayasegawa folds his boxers back and swallows Uryuu down are foreign to him. His shirt tugged tightly to restrain his wrists doesn’t faze him. Madarame shifting behind him to bracket Uryuu with arms and legs means nothing special.

Things get serious when his slacks are pulled the rest of the way off and Uryuu’s knees are pulled in towards his chest.

“Don’t worry, man,” Madarame soothes when Uryuu tenses. “Yumichika is really gentle when he wants to be. Soft hands, like a woman.”

As promised, Ayasegawa’s hands are warm and soft as they lower to ghost over his balls. Madarame takes the place of one holding the base of Uryuu’s cock for Ayasegawa’s mouth to continue attending. Uryuu’s freed knee falls to hook over Ayasegawa’s shoulder. It was bad enough with Hisagi, but the two of them attacking at once has Uryuu riding the edge faster than he would like to admit. Fire stirs in his gut and Uryuu breaks into a slight sweat.

It is delayed, though, from a combination of alcohol’s influence and the slick entry of Ayasegawa’s index inside of him. Uryuu starts to protest but two of Madarame’s fingers push over his tongue as the man’s teeth clamp lightly onto his shoulder. Pleasure, discomfort, and a shadow of pain. These sensations leave him shaky and confused, but Uryuu is still aroused.

Ayasegawa is dexterous and he knows _exactly_ what he’s doing. Before Uryuu can regroup enough to muster resistance, the beautiful man nudges firmly against something so startlingly sensitive that Uryuu comes with nothing more than a muted whimper. Antagonistically, the pleasure it produces is overpowering in its severity. His body snaps into a tight arc and Madarame quickly retrieves his bitten fingers with an amused curse.

“Warning woulda been nice,” he tells Ayasegawa.

“Mmm, he even _tastes_ delicious, Ikkaku,” is the dazed response.

“Yeah? Lemme see.”

While Uryuu is struggling for breath, the two Shinigami meet beside him and exchange a heavy kiss for several long moments. Madarame takes full control, grabbing a fistful of lush hair to tug Ayasegawa where he wants him. His tongue makes first breach and Ayasegawa moans with it. Uryuu has seen kisses in movies before, but this is on another level!

“That is pretty nice,” Madarame concedes, glancing back at Uryuu. A leer steals over his face at the interest he catches. “Hey, Yumichika, I think he likes our little show.”

“Oya? Then how about a bit more?”

Uryuu wants to deny it but knows it would be useless. They’re too into the scene to listen, anyway. Ayasegawa kneads Uryuu’s thigh as Madarame nibbles at his neck. Madarame’s hand comes around to rub at his partner through his slacks. The appreciative groan that incites is musical. Uryuu watches Ayasegawa bite his lip and make direct eye-contact with him in invitation. He breaks the gaze to shut his eyes and call Madarame’s name when the man gives a steady squeeze and reconnects eager tongues.

By the time they part, Uryuu is once again turned on. Fortunately, the respite has also allowed him time to recover from this onslaught. He starts thinking about where he is and what he was supposed to be doing. The fact that they’re in a public place—albeit currently alone upstairs—flits through his mind. Plus, there’s the usual objection that he should really not be taking advantage of his spirit’s sway over these men.

On that thought, their attentions return to Uryuu. They switch places abruptly, with more agility than any man with a hard-on has any right to possess. Madarame pushes at his jeans to free himself as Ayasegawa once again draws Uryuu’s legs up to expose his ass and—oh. Oh, gods.

Flung back into himself like the hot bullet from a cold, distant gun, Uryuu gasps in undiluted alarm. He’s not ready for this. He doesn’t want this. There are lines you just don’t cross unless you _mean it_. These two definitely do not mean it. They don’t mean anything because Uryuu doesn’t care about them like he should for them to be doing what they’re about to do.

It takes every last ounce of concentration, but he manages to pry himself from their collective octopus-grasp. He rambles as he works on shaking free of the makeshift tourniquet binding his arms.

“I know both of you are under a kind of spell and that you don’t really have any control over what you’re doing right now but I would very, _very_ much appreciate it if you could muster even a tiny bit of resistance and appeal to reason here as I say that I am so flattered to be included in your…uh, _menagerie_ …but I am not ready for this level of adventure right now.”

At this appeal, they smirk and sashay towards him. Uryuu almost shouts in triumph when his shirt falls to the floor. He dives for his pants and retreats to the far corner to yank them up before they reach him. Uryuu carefully buttons the restrictive article over his tenacious erection.

“I told you he likes playing hard-to-get.”

“We’ll play along, Ishida,” promises Madarame.

Immediate task accomplished, Uryuu sways where he stands because the effort has taken a lot out of him. He is simultaneously lust-drunk and actually drunk, brain giddily swimming in a wash of fresh dopamine. This is not going to be easy. There is a precious handful of seconds where he almost thinks of a way to escape…and he loses it. He backs up until he hits the window, cold and angular against his bare skin. Gripping its edge, Uryuu wonders if he could open it and fling himself through before they caught him. Then Ayasegawa’s devious hand is wrapping around his wrist and Uryuu blinks rapidly in mild panic.

“Please don’t,” he says. “I don’t want this.”

“That’s not what _this_ is telling us,” purrs Ayasegawa as his palm heats Uryuu’s groin.

“We won’t force you.”

“You won’t?”

“Not if you make us believe you _really_ don’t want us to fuck you,” Madarame laughs. “Good luck.”

Then both men immediately sober up and whip their heads towards the door they locked earlier.

“ _Ichigo_ ,” Ayasegawa hisses. “Ikkaku, what—”

“Grab him! Let’s get the hell out of here, Yumichika.”

But before his sentence is finished, Ikkaku is being hurled across the room from the fury of Kurosaki in black robes. He hits with a crash as the door rebounds from the wall and slams shut again. He doesn’t get back up. Ayasegawa relinquishes Uryuu’s arm and steps back from him as he begins to placate.

“Now, Ichigo, we weren’t hurting him—”

Kurosaki is hearing none of it. He knees the Shinigami in the stomach and then punches him once, hard to the floor for good measure. Uryuu has to wonder if Yoruichi-san taught Kurosaki some shunkou moves after all. Taking a moment to seethe, Kurosaki watches them lie prone for a few labored breaths. Then he walks over to snatch up Uryuu’s shirt. The eyes Kurosaki turns on him as he wordlessly holds it out to him are suffused with an excruciating mélange of emotions that Uryuu is too muddled to interpret. He pushes clumsy arms into his sleeves and fumbles the zip. Impatient, Kurosaki pushes his hands away to do it for him.

“Kuros—”

Uryuu is interrupted by him throwing open the window, grasping his forearm, and using a succession of dizzying shunpo to get them back to his apartment. He watches Kurosaki fling the door wide and allows himself to be dragged inside.

As soon as the door is locked, Kurosaki indulges an aggravated snarl and pins Uryuu to it. His stare is too fierce, angry and accusatory, burning into Uryuu. It’s more than he can take right now. A languid slosh of lust pours into him—refreshing what still lingers—and he unsuccessfully bites back a thin whine.

He knows Kurosaki can feel it. Even if he doesn’t notice what’s going on between his legs, Uryuu must be emanating full-blast right now. The feeling of Kurosaki’s strong hands digging aggressively into his upper arms—the way he holds Uryuu precisely where he wants him—is immeasurably erotic. He takes an indulgent moment to pretend this anger is out of jealousy rather than from having to save Uryuu again. Why it should be this way with Kurosaki and completely different with anyone else, he can’t understand. No, more like he doesn’t care.

“Ishida,” he warns, brows dipping yet further.

But he does care about Kurosaki. Specifically, the fact that he has once again just been rescued by the man, despite once again running off to do whatever he likes rather than heed his friend’s advice. Uryuu is very drunk, horny beyond all fairness, and so guilty he can’t breathe properly. So, when he opens his mouth nothing really gets filtered. Everything comes out in a quiet rush.

“I’m sorry, Kurosaki. I knew I shouldn’t go drinking—it was totally irresponsible—and you were right, I started an orgy when all I wanted was to relax for a little while without worrying about exams or sex or _you_. Or sex with you.” At that Kurosaki shows some surprise for an instant, but quickly shifts back to obstinate irritation. Uryuu can’t meet the weight of his gaze anymore. He closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall as he continues. “Gods, Kurosaki! You have no idea how mad you drive me. Being around you for this long is _agony_ when I’m already so tightly wound I could probably sit and touch myself for hours on end…”

Abruptly, he clicks his teeth shut, realizing what he is admitting to right now. His eyes pop open in dread, expecting Kurosaki’s disgusted shock. Instead, he sees that same tortured expression from the other night, when Kurosaki had briefly held onto his sofa like a lifeline. Uryuu notices the tethers holding him in place remain. He doesn’t understand what any of it means. Can’t think of what to do or say now that he has said far too much.

Kurosaki gives another growl and releases him to turn and take a few steps away from him. His migraine comes swooping back at the absence. Uryuu watches him clench his fists and shake his head. He thinks maybe Kurosaki is battling a powerful urge to hit him. Maybe Uryuu deserves it. He has been nothing but a pain in the ass to Kurosaki since all this began. On his pride, Uryuu cannot reconcile the liberties he has taken at Kurosaki’s expense. How could he have expected this man to go so far just for him?

So, when Kurosaki abruptly whirls around to face him and raises an arm, Uryuu shuts his eyes and holds still for his penalty. He owes Kurosaki that much.

But Kurosaki doesn’t punch him. What he gets instead has Uryuu jerking back against the door to accidentally whack himself, though. It’s a quick, feather-light kiss to the edge of his mouth and Uryuu’s eyes snap wide to stare in bewilderment. He doesn’t move after that. Steadied by the solid surface behind him, he watches Kurosaki as his own pulse strikes a frantic tattoo in his throat. He watches the man fight with himself, plead with Uryuu, and decide to push it all aside and come in for another undemanding peck.

Kurosaki pulls back to gauge the reaction to this second offense. Uryuu gives none.

Then, as if cued by an imperceptible signal they meet in tandem, arms reaching and mouths searching. Kurosaki’s hands comb through his hair and cradle his head as he increases the vigor of the kiss. Uryuu yanks at the man’s obi to connect their bodies as well as mouths. And when Kurosaki moans at that feeling, something inside Uryuu roars in victory. It has him twisting Kurosaki to shove _him_ against the wall instead. The man goes willingly, even widening his stance to allow Uryuu to step in closer.

Fighting Kurosaki’s tongue for dominance is the most exciting thing he has ever done. Especially when his hair is tugged and his lower lip bitten. Uryuu retaliates with a thigh sliding firmly against a hakama-clad groin. A hot breath heats his bared ear before Kurosaki’s fingers abandon his hair to dig into his shirt and rip it apart. Obstruction obliterated, he dives down to suck a large mark over Uryuu’s pulse point. He allows himself to be manhandled however Kurosaki wants because he is drunk on so much more than liquor now. Idly, he thinks that if Aizen himself appeared in the living room, they would still continue on like this.

That doesn’t mean he can’t make a few marks of his own, though. With a darting palm, Uryuu tacks Kurosaki to the wall and gets his attention with a stern stare. Then he holds Kurosaki’s chin aside with a thumb and leans forward to drag his teeth sharply down the man’s long neck, just to the right of his prominent Adam’s apple. Uryuu leaves a trail of light pink lines in his wake. The sound Kurosaki makes is something broken and nearly keening, face drawn tight in a close cousin to misery. This speaks to Uryuu of years spent yearning, countless furtive glances and improper thoughts manifesting in this moment. Kurosaki has _wanted_ him and that thought alone has Uryuu’s breath hitching in his throat.

His pitiful expression quickly turns intent and then, with a light shove, Uryuu is falling to the floor in a graceless jumble. Kurosaki is on him in an instant.

“Ishida,” he pants, clawing at Uryuu’s belt and dragging his pants down. “Is this really what you want?”

“No.” Hesitating at that, Kurosaki is easily thrown and mounted. Uryuu’s lips curl into a roguish smirk as he peers down at Kurosaki through his disheveled fringe. “I want you on your back, Kurosaki. Just like this.”

It’s Uryuu’s turn to tear at the black shihakushou hiding his reward. Kurosaki drags him into a sloppy kiss, hindering his progress, but soon he holds the man’s thick erection in his sweat-slick palm. Kurosaki’s head falls back on a loud groan and Uryuu makes a timely escape. He shimmies down that muscular torso to settle between Kurosaki’s raised knees.

Here, some thought comes into play. Uryuu recalls Hisagi’s most effective technique and employs it as well as he can. The flutter of tongue up the underside, a combination of suction and pressure in just the right places. Keep the teeth out of it. Lips and fingers in conjunction to create the most blissful sensations. Rhythmic and wet. It takes a handful of minutes before Kurosaki is gasping and writhing on the floor as if in death-throes. After all, Uryuu is nothing if not a quick study.

“ _Uunh_ , fuck! Ishida, please!” Uryuu doesn’t know what he’s begging for, but the helpless timbre of it is something to be worshiped. Uryuu’s wordless prayer rumbles over Kurosaki’s cock and sets him arching against the jolting pleasure of it. With a throaty growl, he grits, “Not yet, dammit.”

Uryuu’s head is spinning. Kurosaki has him face-down on the carpet before he understands what happened. Rough hands scrape down his sides, dragging pants and boxers down as they go. Then those hands pull up on his hips, propping Uryuu on his knees. A hot tongue laps at the contour of his spine as fingers close around his erection and shift along the shaft.

Kurosaki mutters filthy compliments on his way down. Kissing a shoulder blade, licking at the divot above a hip, teeth forming a startling imprint in a firm ass cheek. Uryuu gasps against his own forearm and cries out when Kurosaki’s dexterous fingers slip over a prohibited area. He thinks he should tell Kurosaki to stop but it’s all Uryuu can do not to shout encouragements. Instead, he satisfies himself with saying nothing. Let the crazy bastard do what he wants because Uryuu is not going to complain.

He is still partially prepared from his earlier encounter; the continuation is smooth and unproblematic. Especially when those fingers tilt up and press in deep. They wriggle in novel exploration, conspicuous yet gentle. Uryuu wants to tell him how to find what he’s searching for: that elusive bundle of _unforgettable_ nerves that will send him straight into ecstasy. Unfortunately, the notion of speech is daunting at best. Yet, it only takes Kurosaki a few more seconds and Uryuu is bucking against him, a mess of garbled sounds tumbling from a slackened mouth. He carves ten rivets into the carpet and manages a single word to convey this moment as he comes harder than ever before.

“ _Ichigo_!”

Dimly, he feels the man’s reiatsu flare hot and ravenous against him at the appellation. Kurosaki’s hands find his waist and Uryuu is on his back, receiving an ardent kiss as best he can with half his brain offline. The man’s tongue wreaks havoc in his mouth and eventually brings Uryuu back from the fuzzy drift of skilled satiation. It takes him a moment to realize Kurosaki is murmuring something desperate against his lips between advances.

“Uryuu,” he says against flushed skin. “Please, Uryuu.”

“Fuck me.”

Kurosaki halts his ramblings and stares with glazed eyes. Close but not quite the same as those demonstrated by his other suitors. He never had to tell any of _them_ what to do. Uryuu feels surer now than of any other choice he has made. Rallying his strength, he resolutely pushes Kurosaki off him and slowly props himself above the awed Shinigami. He delivers a languid kiss of his own as he positions himself just right and…

“ _Ah_! U-Uryuu,” Kurosaki cries with eyes clenched shut.

He can practically read the thoughts flitting over Kurosaki’s unguarded face. Simultaneously worrying about Uryuu while being utterly destroyed by the feeling of sliding in and sinking deep. Uryuu takes it slowly but with determination. Kurosaki’s shaking hands find his thighs as anchors in a sea of staggering pleasure. He listens to the defenseless noises Kurosaki mewls for him now: endearing and arousing beyond belief.

Uryuu steadies himself by pressing on Kurosaki’s solid chest and finds a comfortable rhythm of back-and-forth. The dense, moist friction of Kurosaki inside of him is more than enough to set him panting again. Erection filling and balls tightening. He gazes down at Kurosaki, watches him being unraveled by the power of a young Quincy rocking over him. The man’s hands keep tense grip on him as if losing that hold right now would be tantamount to death. More than anything, though, the way Kurosaki’s dark eyes alternately flutter shut and snap open to stare up at him has Uryuu’s mind tripping over itself in delight. Like Kurosaki would like nothing more than to watch him forever, but the sway of Uryuu’s body is simply too much to sustain.

The intensifying crease of Kurosaki’s permanent moue tips Uryuu off sooner than his quiet warning. Uryuu is nearly there again, too. An imperative strain of energy surges up from within and casts everything into an achromatic sketch. Details fade while Uryuu’s focus narrows to just the shape of Kurosaki beneath him, the glow of his spirit spreading out from his heated skin. Kurosaki encircles him with insistent arms and pulls him into a deliberate kiss—filled not only with lust and physical gratification, but with a promise.

And when Kurosaki comes for him, calling to Uryuu against his lips, he feels it in the way that Kurosaki’s reiatsu snaps out and enfolds him. Dizzily, Uryuu senses his energy returning the favor. Hips stutter to a slow halt and Uryuu flounders in the eager slide of Kurosaki’s persistent mouth against his. He is guided to his side and Kurosaki’s hands smooth over his flesh in a leisurely expedition. Despite being utterly spent, they are not yet prepared to quit each other.

Minutes pass unheeded and the dots of sweat cool on their skin before they finally draw to a reluctant stop. Hands withdraw and lips part. Eyes creak open and breaths normalize. Kurosaki pushes Uryuu’s hair from his face. Leans in to whisper something into his ear.

But before Uryuu hears it, his overwhelmed mind abruptly crashes.

  
  


  
  


Kurosaki’s apartment is empty when he wakes up, wrapped in a fluffy black blanket on the couch. He’s still naked, of course, and he doesn’t recall moving from the floor. Pushing the cover aside, Uryuu sits up and blinks against the light. Even with all the shutters drawn, it is too bright for his strained eyes, having spent the night with his contacts in. He knows he should be sporting a raging headache right now but…actually, Uryuu realizes he feels fantastic, physically.

Mentally, not so much.

There is a clarity to his thoughts that he hasn’t experienced since before all this started. He remembers last night and the moment he felt Kurosaki’s reiatsu spill out and pour over him, dyeing him in its colors even as Uryuu’s had done the same. Although he doesn’t comprehend the particulars, he can extrapolate what all of this likely means. Even if he doesn’t want to think about it.

To say they got carried away would be grossly under-exaggerating. Kurosaki and he have only ever shared a shallow friendship—once they got past being enemies, that is. Now Uryuu recognizes there has been attraction for some time, though they never discussed or even hinted at such a thing. Eight years since they met and he never saw this coming. Never imagined he would say something like _fuck me_ to Kurosaki Ichigo…not in his wildest dreams.

And yet.

The pleasure is undeniable. Uryuu has spent the past week being molested by various skilled and handsome Shinigami, which has been nice for the most part, if a little troublesome. But being with Kurosaki is incomparable. That would be akin to lumping a spark and a supernova into a single category. Just thinking about sex with the man starts Uryuu’s skin tingling. The feverish way he kissed Uryuu like his next breath was inconsequential. Or the possessive drag of Kurosaki’s fingers over his skin. Moaning so loudly he might as well be shouting.

Shaking these thoughts from his mind, Uryuu stands and begins searching for his clothes. He spots them easily, stacked in a neat pile on the coffee table beside him. Curiously, he sniffs at his shirt and is puzzled to note that they have been washed. He wonders how long he slept, if Kurosaki had time to wake up and run a load of laundry before heading to class. His phone is nowhere to be found, however, so he is doomed to wonder about the time.

Uryuu borrows the shower for the seventh time now and dresses in his fresh outfit. He steals one of Kurosaki’s yogurt cups and drinks some of his filtered water. As he sets the washed dishes on the drying rack and steps back to stare at them, Uryuu struggles with an inner dilemma. This feels too comfortable, too easy. Before this week, he has not spent more than a handful of hours in Kurosaki’s apartment. When they studied, it was usually a public space such as a coffee shop or library. They never did much together aside from academic pursuits and the occasional Hollow battle. No movies, bars, or game nights. No road trips or wild parties. They’ve kept each other at arm’s length all this time.

Now Uryuu finally understands why, because _this_. Sleeping over at Kurosaki’s and using his shower. Looting his kitchen and taking advantage of his appliances. Fucking against the wall and on the floor like a pair of crazed animals because they couldn’t be bothered moving down the hall to the bedroom. This is just the beginning of something they’ve been simultaneously moving towards and running from. And Kurosaki has always created a strange feeling in Uryuu, an unusual mixture of hunger and fullness. Gentle warmth and buzzing discomfort. Intrigue and ire. Being with him last night was a revelation in so many ways.

But Uryuu _still_ doesn’t understand what any of it means.

  
  


  
  


“Ah, hello, Ishida-kun,” Urahara jibbers at him from behind his fan. “So nice to see you looking so well! Come in, come in.”

Uryuu takes it as a positive sign that Urahara has switched back to his surname. Also, that he isn’t pouncing upon sight. He follows the man to his dining room and obligingly sits at the low table beside him when directed. Urahara pours him a steaming cup of tea from a ready pot. He takes a polite sip and then turns to him solemnly.

“Urahara-san, I—”

“Slept with Ichigo,” he interrupts, nodding cheerfully. “I know.”

“How did you…”

“His ‘scent’ is still on you. Not in the olfactory sense,” Urahara adds when Uryuu subtly sniffs at himself. “But the spiritual one. A bond like that tends to linger.”

“A bond!? Then does that mean I’m no longer ‘broadcasting’?”

“No more than you ever have. Actually less, since you’re still subconsciously suppressing your reiatsu. But you don’t smell like honeysuckle anymore and…I seem to have lost the devastating desire to touch you in every way possible. Unfortunately.”

Blushing faintly at the implications of that last word, Uryuu stares at him for a long moment. He flows through a rapid series of emotions at this news. On one hand, he’s ecstatic that he won’t have to deal with any more enterprising Shinigami or Vaizard dropping by to show him a good time. Alternatively, this fact can mean nothing other than that his ‘best possible mate’ is indeed Kurosaki. The way Urahara explained it, only one person in this world or any other would have been able to end the event.

“That is, um,” he tries, thinking he should say _good news_ but the truth is he’s not sure if it is. “I suppose…that’s a relief.”

What does this make him and Kurosaki? Soul mates? Boyfriends? Fuckbuddies? Or maybe he is getting ahead of himself. Uryuu hasn’t considered the idea that Kurosaki may resent him for pushing them into this. For all he knows, Kurosaki could be cursing him this very instant for persuading the Shinigami—practically _forcing_ him—to have sex with Uryuu.

“Is it? You don’t look very relieved, you know,” Urahara murmurs soberly. He eyes Uryuu critically as he says, “You should be glad it ended so soon. There are records of Quincy going years like that before finding their partner. Lucky you’ve been so close to yours all this time.”

“Kurosaki isn’t—”

“Besides, it’s not like you can take it back now.”

“What do you mean?” Watching the man’s stoic expression turn thoughtful, Uryuu tries to dampen down a rustle of panic. “What you said about a ‘bond’ between me and Kurosaki…you didn’t mean anything specific. Did you?”

“I’m afraid so, Ishida-kun.” Uryuu clenches a fist around his mug of tea. Urahara briefly glances at the stressed porcelain before continuing. “Another reason so few Quincy experienced the Honeysuckle Event is because it is permanent. Once the bond is created, it cannot be destroyed.”

“So, w-what are you saying, Urahara-san? It-it’s not like Kurosaki and I are in love with each other!”

Urahara merely hums contemplatively. Uryuu wants to shout and flail and throw a fit like he hasn’t since he was a prideful brat. He wants to prove Urahara wrong. Wants to show how much he doesn’t need Kurosaki. But he can’t do any of these things because he already knows the truth, as much as it terrifies him.

“I’m not saying you have to stay with each other 24/7 for the rest of your lives,” Urahara quietly consoles. “But spending long periods of time apart would begin to feel like going several days without sleep. Being out of contact with a mate historically meant a Quincy slowly lost power and vitality. Whereas staying together always led to a mutual flourishing. Avoiding Ichigo won’t kill you, but…Seeing as you’ve been friends for so long already, is it really such an unbearable idea?”

  
  


  
  


He takes a few days to think.

Blows off the classes he shares with Kurosaki until he can sort it all out. Not only does Kurosaki not check in with him about this, he seems to be avoiding Uryuu, too. Whether that is in anger or confusion, he can’t say, but he appreciates the behavior nonetheless. It’s not that Uryuu doesn’t want to see him. In fact, a small bubble inside him, growing steadily each day, reminds him how much he would really like to see Kurosaki again. Preferably, touching for extended intervals would be involved. Yet, he knows he needs to work this out with a clear mind before facing the man again.

The problem is he can’t quite parse everything until he talks with Kurosaki first. Uryuu wonders why he never said a word about his apparent feelings. Why Kurosaki would go years without even once trying to test the romantic waters with him. Why he would never make efforts to deepen their friendship if he has been harboring these thoughts about him.

Though Uryuu’s reasons for doing the same aren’t so simple, either. He had always figured Kurosaki and Inoue would hook up. When she left the country for college, Uryuu still pegged him for the strictly lady-loving type. There was no point, in his mind, in announcing his interest when he knew it would not be returned. Besides, there was still the issue of them fighting so frequently in their youth. The arguments even continue to this day, though in a greatly diminished format. With age comes maturity and understanding, after all.

Realizing that his thoughts are looping in obstinate circles, Uryuu rubs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. Truly, the only way out of this is to confront the issue properly. He grabs his bag and leaves the library before his resolution can waver. Scripting his opening monologue, Uryuu walks across campus quickly. He almost doesn’t notice as a warm rain begins to fall. But his bag is waterproof and Uryuu has always enjoyed the rain; he doesn’t mind it. By the time he reaches Kurosaki’s street, however, fragrant water is pouring in earnest, sluicing down his body and thoroughly soaking his clothes. He is briefly amused as he imagines showing up on Kurosaki’s doorstep looking like a drowned cat. It’s not nearly enough to scare him home.

Fortunately, Kurosaki answers the door when he knocks. He doesn’t seem surprised to see Uryuu but he frowns at his sodden clothes. Uryuu opens his mouth to say something—the first sentence of his prepared speech—but the attempt is aborted; Kurosaki scowls as he grabs a fistful of jacket and yanks Uryuu into the apartment. He drags Uryuu down the hall and he has a handful of delirious seconds to wonder if they’re heading for the bedroom. But then Kurosaki shoves him into the bathroom, yanking open a closet door to retrieve a towel and toss it at his floundering visitor.

Uryuu stares at the door, which is slammed in his face, for a while in shock. Then he realizes he is shivering with cold. His reflection is pathetic: pale and dripping as he quakes in front of the mirror. He had been fine outside but the air conditioning inside had changed things. Kurosaki’s reaction makes a little more sense now. Therefore, Uryuu once again borrows the shower to reheat his chilled skin. When he is warm and dry and clothed in a pair of Kurosaki’s clothes laid innocuously outside the bathroom door, Uryuu walks into the living room and nervously adjusts the glasses he has taken to wearing again. Kurosaki rounds the corner from the kitchen and presses a mug of what smells like hot chocolate between his palms. Uryuu sips the sweet liquid and feels its heat suffuse him. He imagines a healthy pink tinge returning to his complexion.

Only then does Kurosaki’s dark glower recede.

They settle onto the sofa, facing forward and not looking at each other. Uryuu feels silly and a little vulnerable for having Kurosaki take care of him like this. Despite knowing Kurosaki is the care-giving type, it’s strange receiving such attention firsthand. Uryuu sets his mug down on the coffee table and quietly clears his throat.

“I’m sure you’ve guessed why I’m here.”

“Yeah.”

“I was hoping you would be willing to answer a few questions.”

“Sure.”

“Kurosaki,” he says, eyeing the man doubtfully. He’s wearing that resigned face that Uryuu has always hated seeing on his usually determined visage. “You could save us both a lot of time by saying what you’re clearly thinking.”

“What’s that?” Kurosaki flippantly asks, turning and pinning Uryuu with a heavy stare. “What am I thinking, Ishida?”

“That—well, that you regret everything." When this assertion is neither denied nor agreed, Uryuu falters. Why else would Kurosaki be so angry with him right now? The man’s silent disapproval stings at first. Then Uryuu begins to simmer with an offended rage. “That you can’t stand to look at me because of what I’ve done. Just say it, Kurosaki.”

“What _you’ve_ done!?”

“That you can never forgive me for forcing you into that kind of situation—all of it.” Kurosaki’s astonishment goes unnoticed in the swift build of Uryuu’s imminent breakdown. He stands to anxiously pace the room as he rants. “That I took advantage of your kindness and your friendship and trapped you to serve my own selfish goals. Dragging you along as a bodyguard for a week. Addling your brain with lecherous influence. Inspiring you to such a level of pity that you could bring yourself to touch me and then commanding you to…to…”

Uryuu can’t say it. It’s so much worse than forcing sex, Uryuu forced a _magical bond_ that can ‘never be broken’ with someone who probably hates him more now than the naïve Quincy who foolishly challenged Kurosaki so many years ago. Yet, the saddest part about this entire situation is not that he regrets it, but that he will miss Kurosaki’s companionship more than he thinks he can bear. From the pointless bickering and enduring rivalry, to the comfortable familiarity they’ve been developing over time, to the trust and loyalty they have shared since their initial battle. Uryuu will feel the loss of Kurosaki Ichigo in his life like a spiteful evisceration.

“Ishida,” comes a voice too calm and gentle to belong in this moment. “Ishida, sit down.” He sits, if only because Uryuu is floored by the unruffled demeanor he witnesses. Kurosaki pulls a leg up onto the cushion to twist and face Uryuu fully. His mellow brown eyes sweep solemnly over Uryuu’s fidgeting figure. “You’re wrong.”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

“But—”

Uryuu’s breath leaves him as Kurosaki’s long fingers close over his hand. He stares at this connection before glancing up to see Kurosaki doing the same. Then he meets Uryuu’s baffled blue eyes and takes a slow breath. Kurosaki leans forward to kiss softly at the corner of his mouth, careful and deliberate. Uryuu remembers that action as the shifting point of their entire relationship.

Uryuu tilts his wrist to entwine their fingers. Ichigo smiles.


End file.
